Prince of Fools
by SashaDaae
Summary: Quirrell loved once. Don't be surprised- it happens to everyone now and then. But when your mind is not your own, what can you do? It's too late- he spiraled out of control, and he can't fix anything now. Perhaps he was never deserving of love...


I own nothing. Song "Spiralling" by Antony and the Johnsons.

___

_Well and I can and I die_

_I can, I die_

My fellow Wizards always used to say "Muggle-born" as if it was dirty, like a word that you wouldn't want your mother to hear you say, even if you whispered it. They use nastier words sometimes too, not always to your face (unless they are bold enough).

So it only makes sense, then, that these same Witches and Wizards should sneer upon a professor of Muggle Studies. I was not a Pure-blood by any means, and neither are they- though they dearly like to pretend that's so. Some, like Lucius Malfoy, say that it is a course meant for the weak-minded and give students a bad idea- thus, it should be cancelled from the curriculum.

But I (as well as Albus and his predecessors) felt quite the opposite. Just as it is necessary to teach Wizards and Witches about trolls and goblins and dragons and such, it's just as important for them to understand the life of a Muggle.

_Well and I'm freezing_

_I'm freezing_

To be honest, I'm not sure why I am writing all this. I'm dwelling on random thoughts, just as I always have. "Never could keep his thoughts straight, poor chap!" They used to proclaim. It is apart of my past life, but not necessarily my future. Silly me- I have no future. I was destined, since birth, _not_ to have a future.

There were two things I loved when I attended Hogwarts- Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I was a Ravenclaw, a loner, too shy to ever talk to my fellow attendees. I was sickly and pale and silent, but no one made fun of me, not even James Potter. I was too silent to deserve it.

Not to say I didn't have friends- more like acquaintances, those I was civil with. There was Remus Lupin, and Lily Potter, who studied with me in the library before term's end and smiled at me in the hallways. There were a handful of others, of course, but I am afraid I have forgotten their names...

_ Well it's a sly curse _

_A sly curse_

Students have whispered about how strange I am. I don't have a funny limp or a missing hand or a disfigurement (not that they see, _anyway_). Even before I was elected the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, I was regarded as too kind to students to have any sort of decent discipline, too quiet and not hard enough. Minerva tried to help, but of course that was a miserable failure- one poor girl ended up in tears by the time class was over!

Who would have thought that a student would actually want a difficult teacher?

What they don't know is that I've always been this way. I'm not sure why. My father- well, _he_ was the one that constantly pushed for not just better grades, but the best. Probably because of the fact that he worked in one of the dirtiest Wizarding occupations you can think of, and that's working the mines with Goblins for assorted important items- you see, even for a Wizard to build a house or to heat it requires a substantial amount of dirty work. Muggles and our kind aren't as different as one may think.

No, he didn't want that life for his only child. I would do better. I wouldn't drop out of Hogwarts because I had gone and done things with a girl too early, against my parent's wishes. School was the only thing that mattered.

My mother died when I was ten, not long before I was to leave for Hogwarts. She never got to take me to Diagon Alley, never saw me off to the Platform, never read letters about goings-on at school. When she was alive, she flitted in and out of the house- doing odds and ends, cleaning for others' homes when their House Elves were unable to, sewing repairs on robes...

This left me on my own quite a bit. You think this would have given me a backbone, having to fend all alone, but rather it made me turn inside myself, sitting for hours at a time alone in my bedroom or dorm room, feet falling asleep from lack of movement.

When I graduated and I expressed a longing to return to Hogwarts, to teach, my father was offended. "You've worked so hard," he had growled, "and the best you can do is _teach?" _My grandfather had laughed and my grandmother had merely stared at me.

"A life as a professor," my grandfather had announced to the rest of the family, "is surely the most dull, drab, and thankless job I can think of for a talented man like you."

_Well and I'm spiraling_

_ I'm spiraling_

I could never say the right thing, not even when I interviewed for the application at Hogwarts. I shook so badly that poor Minerva was sure I'd pass out. Needless to say, I was never a "people person", and my lack of friends (and familial support for my occupation, no matter my credentials) never helped.

I rarely socialized with the other professors. I had no reason to, anyway- Muggle Studies was a small subject, not nearly as important as Potions or Charms. As was with my youth, I kept to myself, unsure of how to deal with those of my own kind- Wizards.

Until the summer I left for Albania.

_ In the broken heart game _

_I've got all my files _

_I've got all my ones to choose from _

_I gave waiting for you _

_Waiting for you_

I was in love with a girl then. Secretly. I couldn't tell anyone, least of all my family. She worked with Madame Malkin- maybe she still does. Cirilla was her name. It's Greek, you know, for "lordly", and indeed she was such an attractive, handsome woman that she must have been related to some duke or baron forgotten in the sands of history.

Her hair was gold, always set in waves that hung just past her collarbone, and she had a perfect heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and her nose was straight. I loved her very much, too much. From the moment I met her, in the shop, I knew it. I felt it.

I remember once telling her about how I wanted to travel, to go somewhere before I became too raveled and obsessed with my life at Hogwarts that I forgot what it was like to have a life outside.

"Then go!" she had urged as she folded my new robe. "Go somewhere off the beaten path, not Paris or Moscow, that's where all the aristocrats go."

"I'm beginning Defense Against the Dark Arts next year," I admitted, "so I guess field work-"

She had laughed and placed her hand gently on mine, sending shock waves down my spine. "Don't think about that," Cirilla had responded warmly. "Enjoy yourself, and promise that you'll come back and tell me about it."

I promised her I would. But back then I wasn't counting on the danger I faced.

I left the day after term ended.

_I'm ravage like a dog in heat_

_I'm gone, gone I am, I'm undone_

_I am undone_

I came home frightened, shaking, unsure of if I could handle my new post. Indeed, I was more of a wreck than I ever had been previously. The voice in my head directed me, told me what to do. My mind was not my own anymore- freedom was a word of the past.

He had promised me something I couldn't turn away, you see. It was not power, or riches, or any other useless ability. He had told me that he could change me for the better, make me a stronger man. A man worthy of_ love._

_But first,_ the cunning voice had whispered,_ you must help me, it's nothing too grand, my friend... _Foolishly, I had agreed. I was so overcome by what it had told me that I didn't stop and think. But when I returned to London, he was already setting the rules of the game.

_Does this mean I cannot see-_ I had not even finished the thought before he'd answered for me, sealed my fate with a single word.

_Never._

Whenever I snapped at Minerva, argued with Flitwick (Flitwick! he was my Head of House, and here I was having a row with him over the most stupid topics), her face swam in front of my eyes and I felt ashamed. The year hadn't even begun and already I was impatient and irritable. My hands trembled, my stammer grew worse.

I laid my eyes on the boy for the first time in Tom's pub. I remember hearing that nagging conscience- _he's the one!_- and had refused to shake his hand, fearful of what my Master would do. Anxious our paths would cross, I forced myself to down a drink or two before making my way through Diagon Alley.

Against protocol, against what he had told me to do, I made my way to Madame Malkin's.

And there she was, smiling, waiting. "Quirinus, I was wondering when you would come back and visit me!"

Her voice was sweet and thick, like honey. I had opened and closed my mouth a couple of times before responding. "I a-apologize, C-Cirilla! I've been so b-b-busy since ret-returning home from Albania, you know h-how things l-like that go." I laughed nervously.

She'd smiled. "Indeed! Just last week I was in Scotland, but it's not nearly as interesting as Albania or Africa.." she had pursed her lips, glancing anxiously at the clock. "Perhaps you could tell me about it, since it's about time I go on break?"

I had accepted. We had gone for coffee. I returned to Hogwarts with a migraine so awful I had laid down in my bed, the walls spinning around me. Chills, vomiting, constant nausea- there's probably some Muggle name for my illness, where they go to a doctor and everything is all right.

But I could not go to a doctor. I could not go to anyone. That one sweet hour with Cirilla had cost me dearly.

And he was sure I wouldn't do it again.

_Where go, where now_

_I can't stand_

_If I can, I can die _

_I'm freezing _

_It's like us_

_I'm spiraling_

The pain mounted over the months, as did the poison he fed me.

I was indoctrinated into the belief that, yes, Muggles are different, and that they are a bad sort of different, the harmful sort of different.

Potter is bad, because he is too meddlesome and caused your Master pain.

Snape is bad, because he is too meddlesome and doesn't leave you alone. He follows you, haunts your steps.

___In my cruel life God poisoned  
I was born old  
Not a girl and not a jewel  
I am, I am some son  
I am some bum  
_

My selfishness was my downfall. I cannot blame anyone else. Not my father, for his uncaring attitude towards his only child. Not the students of Hogwarts, who never wanted to befriend me. Not the staff, not my pupils, no one but myself.

I probably could have been with her. She was the only one to look my way, to smile, to look past that painful shyness and see more than the Professor of Muggle Studies. I wish I had kissed her at the cafe that evening.

But I won't ask for redemption. There's no use. I've wronged too many- Harry Potter, whom I tried to kill. My fellow professors, whom I had no patience for and even grew to fear. Even that unicorn I killed in the forest.

Sometimes I imagine her, still waiting for me, somewhere. Maybe at that same cafe, wondering if Quirinus will ever stop by again. Or maybe she's already moved on, I don't know. But it's better for me to think of the former over the latter.

When I first met her, I was sure I could be loved for myself. But I dreamed too big and was a fool, and look at the mess I've made.

If I could, I would apologize to Potter. I would find Cirilla and take her somewhere, somewhere far away- Greece or Malta or Bulgaria.

No, I won't ask for redemption. A man like me does not deserve anything, not even love.

_Where go, where now_  
_I can't stand_  
_If I can, I can die_  
_I'm freezing_  
_It's like us_  
_I'm spiraling _


End file.
